


What Ails You

by adelagia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelagia/pseuds/adelagia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur is sick, whinges a lot, shanghais Merlin into a serious conversation, and talks of forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Ails You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely, inimitable casspeach for reading this over for me and for being the Inigo Montoya to my vocabulary-challenged Vizzini. Originally posted on LJ in 2009.

Handling Arthur's moods was a fine art form, though Merlin was buggered if he knew what that all involved. It seemed like every time he thought he'd figured out how to read Arthur, Arthur would go and invent a brand new temperament to stymie him with.

There were extremes. In his best moments, as in victory or in pure laughter, Arthur was all warmth and glory, blinding in his brilliance. In his worst moments, when he thought all hope was lost, Arthur withdrew far into himself until the silence was deafening, every movement a monumental effort and every breath like a desperate thunderclap.

Just one rung above that was Arthur's initial response to Merlin's magic, the discovery of which had been totally accidental and mundane, put Arthur in an unbearable snit and then blown over abruptly because there had been more pressing things to deal with, like saving the kingdom from monster attack. And when Arthur had risked life and limb to rescue Merlin from getting ripped in half during the melee, it became quite clear to both of them that he wasn't going to save Merlin's life only to send him to the pyre, so there really had been no choice but to just trudge on as they had always done. They agreed never to speak of Merlin's magic again, under the assumption that the less Arthur knew the better for them both, which, for all their best stabs at normality, couldn't completely hide the fact that things were a little strained and tense between them now, and sometimes unpleasant.

And then Arthur got sick. And whiny.

"Merlin," he wheezed horribly. "I'm dying."

Merlin rolled his eyes out of Arthur's line of sight. "You're not dying," he said, pasting on a cheerful smile and perching himself on the edge of Arthur's bed. "You just have a bad cold is all. Gaius said the worst of it has already passed, actually."

"No," said Arthur in a more normal voice, eyes bright. "I'm pretty sure I'm dying."

"Would now be a good time to ask if I can have your helmet collection, then?" Merlin asked casually, swishing a square of cloth in the basin he'd set next to Arthur's bed, and wrung it out.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose in an unsuccessful attempt to waylay a massive sneeze. "What do you want with my helmet collection?"

"Oh, you know, this and that." Like throwing them into the lake so no one else would ever have to spend hours polishing the stupid things.

"Your evasiveness is not at all reassuring." He rubbed absently at his nose, the colour of a newly-plucked apple. "No, I shall bequeath to you my hunting equipment. So you will always have a reminder of the excruciatingly fun times I forced you to have."

"Absolutely excruciating, agreed," Merlin said, and slapped the damp cloth onto Arthur's forehead.

Arthur frowned mightily at the rivulets of water running into his eyes and blinked them away. "Your atrocious caretaking skills continue to astound me."

"And you're altogether too articulate for a dying man. Try harder, Arthur."

"I don't see why those things are mutually exclusive," he said, and coughed weakly as if to prove his point. He looked up at Merlin in bleak defiance. "Your bedside manner is terrible. Where's Gwen? She's better at this. She says nice things to me when she thinks I'm not listening. You've no sympathy at all."

"Maybe next time you'll listen to me when I warn you not to go hunting during a torrential downpour," said Merlin, the edge in his voice belied by the gentle dabbing of his sleeve at the water droplets on Arthur's face.

"Worth it," said Arthur of the beautiful stag he'd managed to fell in one swift, clean shot from his crossbow. Arranging his pillows haphazardly against the headboard and ignoring Merlin's frown of disapproval, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, the folded cloth falling off his forehead and into his lap with a wet plop. He flung it away. "Entertain me, Merlin. It's boring. I'm bored."

The thing about Arthur being put on bedrest was that all the energy he usually expended on physical activity, on training or running around executing his father's orders or killing things in the wild, desperately needed another outlet. Which meant that he ended up talking a great deal and whinging like a child. At least, that was how he behaved when it was just Merlin in the room; when anyone else came by to check on him, Arthur was a model patient, quiet and still almost to the point of total torpidity.

It wasn't that Merlin really minded tending to Arthur; just because they were involved in some kind of prolonged standoff that neither one of them wanted to acknowledge didn't mean he didn't still care about the great prat. And even if he didn't have to be here, he'd just spend all his time worrying about the prince anyway. It was just very trying sometimes, especially since Merlin often wasn't sure where exactly he stood these days with Arthur, who seemed at present to favour weaving between jokey indifference and irritability. More than once Merlin was tempted to execute a silencing spell on him, but all things considered, it would probably be unwise. For one thing, Arthur would not be the least bit amused. For another, he might find strangling Merlin a whole new reason to live.

"I thought you were dying."

"I'm perfectly capable of doing both, Merlin."

"Shall I fetch the jester to administer the embalming oil, then?"

Arthur coughed. Or he might have laughed; either way, it was turning into a violent coughing fit now. It was a little alarming, what with all the wheezing and shaking, and Arthur's eyes were watering, so Merlin had to slide forward and clap his back and rub at his chest in firm, soothing strokes until the spasms passed. (Well, he didn't _have_ to, but it seemed like an appropriate thing to do, if a little inappropriate with the excessive touching, but he didn't see Arthur objecting.)

"Try not to choke to death on my watch. People might think I did you in on purpose," Merlin said when Arthur had composed himself. He got up and fetched a cup of a honeyed tea concoction that Gaius had left earlier that day to soothe Arthur's throat, warming it on the sly.

Arthur looked at the tea suspiciously but accepted it without comment and took a slow, assessing sip. He went silent for a little bit, watching Merlin as he tidied up the rest of the room, insofar as tidying up meant pushing things around so as to have something to do. "You know," Arthur said to the canopy after a while, "if I wasn't blissfully unaware of your secret powers, I'd ask you to cure me of this horrible malady."

"If I had any idea what you were talking about, I'm sure I would," Merlin replied as he busied himself with rearranging a pile of books and clothes on top of the trunk in the corner.

"Really?" Arthur asked, looking shrewd and interested all of a sudden. "You'd be able to?"

 _I could bring the sun, moon and stars crashing down at your feet if you asked it of me_ , Merlin thought, but only made a noncommittal sound, feeling Arthur's keen eyes on him.

"Merlin."

Merlin shot him a warning glance. "You're not delirious, are you?"

" _Merlin_."

"I thought we weren't talking about this," Merlin said rather sharply, trying to keep his attention focussed on the mess in front of him.

Up until now, Arthur had been fairly good about keeping the moratorium in effect, though Merlin sometimes thought Arthur watched him a lot more closely than before, not really with suspicion, but with something more akin to reticent curiosity. And sometimes disappointment. Merlin wasn't sure what those looks meant, the ones when disillusionment and regret ghosted over Arthur's face; perhaps he was diminished somehow in Arthur's eyes, in which case, he didn't want to know, would rather keep up this awful charade than to know Arthur thought less of him.

"I'm not saying you _should_ , mind you, given it being a capital offence and all," Arthur went on thoughtfully, like Merlin hadn't spoken. "I just want to know -- what you can do. With your -- you know." He frowned slightly, eyebrows knotting together, like he wasn't sure he should have said it, but the uncertainty resolved itself almost instantly because he was Arthur and he didn't like to retreat. He waited.

"For you, anything," said Merlin at last, half-joking at first and then not at all. He pretended to find one of the books in front of him very engrossing. It was a book on hunting. Merlin shook his head at it, and at Arthur, by association.

"Anything?" Arthur repeated softly, and ruminated on this for a while. Then, he sat up straight and braced himself as if for a mighty blow. "All right, then, go on."

"Ahh, except that," said Merlin, and shrugged when Arthur pinned him with an accusatory glare. "There isn't an instant cure for a cold, Arthur. You just need to rest and let it run its course."

"Well, fat lot of good your powers are, then," he said, and sniffed, leaning back into the pillows again.

Merlin lifted an eyebrow at him, not really wanting to go into all the little details and rules of magic. If he'd had the power to heal, he probably wouldn't be in Camelot at all. The weird thing was that he did have the power of life and death in his hands if he truly wanted it, but the Old Religion was a bit of a tricky bastard that way. "They have their occasional uses," he said vaguely instead, wondering why they were having this conversation at all when it had been made clear some time ago that the subject was off limits.

Arthur turned his attention on rolling the cup in his hand, gazing into the swirling tea as though there was something to be read in it, and then held his cup of tea out for Merlin. "It's not hot enough; do it again," he said, and waited expectantly, a flicker of a challenge in his eyes.

Merlin frowned briefly at him, Arthur's sudden, insistent demand for proof of his abilities more than a little jarring. "Arthur."

"Show me," he said, his tone not quite an order, not quite a plea.

"Why are you pushing this?" Merlin asked cautiously.

"I want --" Arthur said, and shifted restlessly.

"You wanted to never see, hear or speak of my magic again."

"I changed my mind," Arthur said, a little testily. He stared straight ahead at the empty fireplace for a few moments, his shoulders slumping forward slightly, and blew a harsh breath out his throat. "I don't like it when you keep things from me, Merlin." A pause. "Even if I was the one who sanctioned it."

Merlin looked at his shoes. Of course this was one of those things that would fester deep underneath all the dedicated nonchalance that they were so good at when they didn't want to directly address important things, like why they kept putting their lives on the line for each other; God knew it gnawed at his insides when he was careless enough to let his thoughts wander there. It was bound to come to a head sooner or later; better now when there was still a chance of putting things right, he supposed. "I'm sorry," he said, of everything. "I should have said."

Arthur shot Merlin a swift glance and nodded. "Look, I don't want you to have to hide yourself from me, all right? I just wish -- You do trust me, don't you?" he asked quietly, faraway and lost.

"Arthur," said Merlin, and for all the trouble he'd had in the past interpreting Arthur's sometimes cryptic moods, this one was made clear in a flash, all those disappointed, regretful looks building upon each other to make him finally see. It wasn't the magic itself that rankled, nor that Arthur thought of Merlin any differently. It was that Merlin hadn't seen fit to share with Arthur an essential part of himself, and there was almost nothing worse for Arthur than thinking someone he trusted had no faith in him, especially when he had such a tenuous grasp on it himself half the time. So Merlin said what was true, and hoped that it was enough. "Of course. With my life, Arthur, always. If you didn't know it before, believe it now."

"Good," Arthur said shortly, and stared out the window, at nothing. "Because I know who you are, Merlin, and I should hope you know me."

"I do," Merlin said easily. Arthur was everything, sunshine and rain, truth and destiny. He touched his hand briefly to Arthur's shoulder so Arthur would look at him. "You're my friend, Arthur, as I am yours. To the end."

Arthur graced him with a half-smile, eyes rich with understanding, and nodded again, satisfied. He inhaled deeply, and when the breath was released with a slight rattle, Merlin felt everything shift back into its rightful place, like a long-awaited homecoming.

"Which could very well be today," Arthur said suddenly, in that obnoxious and yet somehow affectionate voice he liked to bully Merlin with, "thanks to your shoddy nursing skills."

Merlin grinned and shook his head, feet planted squarely on familiar ground, where everything was all right and they could just be themselves again. "You're not dying. Stop being so dramatic."

"Listen," Arthur said, casting an oft-used, imperious glance his way that made Merlin want to smile even harder, "I don't know if anyone has bothered to mention this to you before, but you're a bit rubbish at your job."

Merlin regarded him archly. "You may have brought it up once or twice. In the last ten seconds."

"Really, just terrible."

"And yet I'm still here."

"Well, _someone_ has to save you from yourself," Arthur said tartly. "And frankly, Merlin, it's rather a difficult job keeping you in line, and as I'm sure no one else is up to the task, I'm just going to have to keep you with me all the time, magic or no. It seems I'm stuck with you forever, really."

Merlin smiled brightly and felt a burst of warmth at his cheeks. "I don't suppose I get a choice in the matter."

"Oh, did you want one?" Arthur inquired genially.

"No. Not at all."

"Good. You weren't getting it anyway."

"It's so reassuring how much you trust me to make my own decisions."

"Of course, Merlin. I trust you _implicitly_ not to fight me on this. And it appears I'm right, as usual. My judgment is very sound. Besides, you already said you'd do anything for me."

"Mm, I regret it already."

"No, you don't," Arthur said and laughed, the sound so warm and rich Merlin wished he could catch and pocket it. But it was all right, he thought, as he had all of forever to hear it again and again.


End file.
